Title: Lost and Won
Author: Shayney
Email: shayneyl@aol.com
Size: 20K
Rating: PG-13 for adult themes.
Codes: Not-exactly-P/K.
Summary: A post-"Killing Game" vignette.

Spoilers for "The Killing Game." Some mild h-c. Rated M for Melancholy.

Characters and situations owned by Paramount/Viacom. Used without
permission. No copyright infringement intended.

                                Lost and Won

                                 by Shayney

       It was 2030 hours by the time the last patient was taken care of.
Between the Hirogen and the holodeck armies, there were a heck of a lot of
casualties. The longest sick call he'd ever worked in his life, Tom thought
wearily. But along with the weariness was contentment. The Hirogen were
safely vanquished, the crew mostly none the worse for wear. Though he'd
never admit it to the Doctor, Tom had come to enjoy his secondary job as
ship's medic - as long as it remained secondary. There was something deeply
satisfying about healing. He'd always liked fixing things, after all.

       "Paris to Torres."

       "Go ahead."

       "Hey, B'Elanna. Still working?"

       "Yes, but I'm almost ready to take a dinner break. All done in
Sickbay?"

       "For tonight."

       "How's Harry?"

       Tom had been wondering that himself. "Harry? I haven't seen him. I
figured he'd be with you."

       "He came here wanting to help with the repairs, but I wouldn't let
him. He looked like he'd been hit by a Type 9 shuttlecraft. I sent him to
Sickbay."

       Tom frowned. "He didn't show at sick call."

       "I'm going to kill him," B'Elanna said.

       "Now, now, don't make my job any harder," Tom chided. "I'll find him
and make sure he's okay."

       "Want me to come with you?"

       "No, I think I can handle one recalcitrant ensign. Meet me for dinner
in about an hour?"

       "It's a date," B'Elanna replied. "Torres out."

       Tom half-expected to find Harry working on repairs somewhere else on
the ship, but according to the computer, he was in his quarters. Tom
gathered up his field medical kit and headed off to see his friend.

       There was no answer at Harry's door, so Tom keyed in the code and
went right in. The room beyond was dark. He turned the lights on and headed
for the bedroom. Harry was there, apparently sleeping peacefully in a tangle
of blankets. Tom was relieved...until he got a closer look. Beneath the fall
of dark hair, Harry was almost unrecognizable. His face was a mass of cuts,
scabs, and bruises. His eye, lip, and one cheekbone were painfully swollen.

        "Oh, Harry," Tom whispered, moving to his friend's side. Harry
hadn't stirred when the lights came on, and he didn't when Tom shook his
shoulder gently, either. Tom pulled out his medical tricorder and began
scanning.

        The readings both reassured Tom and disturbed him. He'd been afraid
Harry was dead, or in a coma, but he was just deeply asleep. None of his
injuries seemed immediately life-threatening. But there were so many of
them, some fresh, some half-healed. Tom had seen many more serious injuries
today in Sickbay, but no one so thoroughly battered as Harry was.

        He hated to wake the obviously exhausted young man, but some of his
injuries really should have immediate treatment. And, truth be told, Tom
felt a need to talk to Harry, to prove to himself his friend was all right.
He shook Harry's shoulder again. "Wake up, buddy."

        Harry suddenly opened his eyes. He tried to sit up, so fast that he
got caught in the blankets and fell back again. Tom would have laughed at
the uncustomary clumsiness, but for the expression of stark terror on
Harry's bruised face. Tom swallowed, feeling vaguely sick. That brief look
on Harry's face reminded him of something. He couldn't recall what, and he
wasn't sure he wanted to. The past three weeks were a blank for him and the
others who'd been used as Hirogen prey, and from what the rest of the crew
said, they were better off not remembering.

       The moment was fleeting. Harry recognized Tom, and relaxed. "Tom," he
groaned. "Go away."

       "Well, that's a fine way to greet your best friend, who you haven't
seen in three weeks."

       "Tomorrow," Harry muttered. "Please, I'll go to Sandrine's with you
tomorrow. I'm so tired..."

        Hmmm. Harry sounded a little confused, but then, he'd just been
woken from a dead sleep. "I'm not here to drag you to Sandrine's, Harry. I
think I've had more than enough of French bistros to last me awhile." Not to
mention that until Voyager was repaired, it was doubtful anyone would be
using their holodeck privileges. "Come on, talk to me, kid. I need to know
you're coherent."

        Harry made a vaguely protesting noise, then pulled a blanket over
his head, turning away. Tom sighed, and tried to peel the blanket off. He
managed to get the top and back of Harry's head unwrapped, and ran his
fingers through the thick, dark hair. According the scan, the most dangerous
injury was a blow to the back of the cranium...there it was. A huge lump at
the back of Harry's head. Tom touched it gently. "Harry, when did you get
this?"

        Harry's hand crept from beneath the covers, and Tom guided it to the
lump. "A few days ago," Harry's drowsy voice said. "I had an argument with a
bulkhead, and the bulkhead won."

       "They threw you against the wall."

       "Mmmphh."

       "Did you lose consciousness?"

       "Not that time."

        Tom sighed, and pulled out the regenerator. He held Harry's hair of
out the way as best he could, and proceeded to treat the injury.

        The soft, dark hair was still damp from the shower. Tom gave Harry's
ear a tug. "Yup, still wet behind the ears," he said.

        It was an old joke between them. Harry didn't open his eyes, but a
reluctant smile crept across his face, albeit a sleepy one. He swatted Tom's
hand away.

        Next most serious injury...kidney. Tom yanked all the blankets off
and threw them on the floor, leaving Harry curled on the bed, only his
t-shirt and shorts covering him. "Please, Tom," Harry moaned. "Don't think
I'm not glad to see you, but I'm so tired. They didn't let me sleep. Come
back tomorrow. Please."

        "Harry, you need medical attention. Now. You should have gotten it
much sooner. Why didn't you go to Sickbay like B'Elanna told you?"

       "Tomorrow, Tom. I promise I'll report to Sickbay first thing tomorrow
morning."

       "Nope, sorry, Har. It's going to be now. Doctor's orders." He lifted
Harry's shirt, and gasped at the bruising over his ribs, stomach, and back.
Tom eyed Harry's clothing. A faded red t-shirt and grey shorts with a
"Starfleet Academy Varsity Velocity" logo. They looked old. "Harry, I'm
going to cut your clothes off."

        That got Harry's attention. "What? Don't you dare!"

       "Harry, look at you. It will hurt if I lift the shirt off over your
head. If it means that much to you, I'll replicate another shirt for you."

       "It wouldn't be the same. This is my favorite shirt."

       "Harry - "

       "Okay, okay, I just put these clothes on. I can take them off again,"
Harry said. He was finally starting to sound like he was really awake.

       Tom helped Harry up. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly
slipped his arms out of the shirt. Tom pulled it off. "The shorts, too. And
the underwear."

       Harry sighed, stood up, and removed the items in question. "Just my
luck. Someone appears in my quarters in the middle of the night and orders
me to strip, but it's only the ship's medic."

       "It's only 2100 hours, hardly the middle of the night. And if you'd
gone to Sickbay as ordered, I wouldn't have to make housecalls. Here, lie
down."

       "Tyrant," Harry muttered.

       Now naked, Harry lay back down on the bed. Tom draped a blanket over
him, for modesty and warmth, then pulled out the scanner again. "You're
lucky I didn't bring B'Elanna. She wanted to come with me. And she's not
happy that you didn't obey her orders."

       "She's not coming up here, is she?" Harry asked, sounding a little
nervous.

       "Not unless this takes so long she comes looking for me."

        Harry's eyes glinted with mischief. "She'd probably check Megan
Delaney's cabin first. She thinks you became a medic just so you could look
at pretty girls with their clothes off."

       "What?!" Tom said, outraged. He'd been drafted for this job, and
Harry knew it. "You set her straight, didn't you?"

       "Of course, Tom," Harry said solemnly. "I told her you didn't have to
get the ladies' clothes off. You just use the medical tricorder to see them
naked, even when they're fully dressed."

       "I see your sense of humor is intact. Just as bad as ever." Geez, did
B'Elanna really think...? Probably. She knew he was a pig, but loved him
anyway.

       "Hey," Harry said, suddenly serious. "I didn't mean to worry you.
There were so many people injured. You were so busy down there. I didn't
want to bother you."

       Tom glared at him. "It's my job. And you're my best friend. How could
you be bothering me?"

       "Okay, I also didn't want to wait in line," Harry said. "It was
backed up down the corridor almost to the turbolift."

       Tom shook his head, then applied the regenerator to Harry's battered
face. He'd have to turn over next, and it would be painful if his facial
injuries weren't healed first.

       "Okay, Har, on your stomach."

       Harry obeyed, and Tom winced at the sight of all the bruises.
"Hematuria?" he asked.

       "Huh?"

       "Have you been peeing blood?"

       "Oh. Yeah." He giggled. "You know, Tom, you've been hanging around
the Doc too much. You're starting to talk like him."

       "Harry, you should have gotten treated." Tom dialed up the intensity
of the regenerator, so it would penetrate deeply enough to reach the
contused kidney. "I know you hate doctors, but come on."

       "It wasn't that! I couldn't," Harry said. "Only people who were
dying...'killed'...were taken to Sickbay. It was a triage situation, the
whole three weeks. No time or resources for minor injuries."

        "I'd hardly call this minor. Keep still." Tom activated the
regenerator again. "Why weren't you in the wargames with the rest us?"

       "I don't know," Harry said. He tried to look around at Tom.

       "I told you to keep still." Tom used his other hand to hold Harry
down.

        "Sorry." Harry was silent for awhile, then said, "I think they chose
the best prey for the hunts."

       "Best prey?"

       "The ones they thought would be the fiercest."

       "You're too sweet-natured to be worth killing?" Tom teased.

       Harry snorted. "It might have just been my rank. The Hirogen tended
to assume the highest-ranking humans were the fiercest." He grinned. "Or
maybe they realized I'm too smart to waste as prey."

       Tom was about to jump into the opening Harry had given him, then
reconsidered. "I bet they wish they had used you for prey. If they had,
they'd have won." Tom finished the regeneration, then realized his hand was
on Harry's bare ass and jerked it away. He hadn't really thought about where
he was putting his hand when he held Harry still.

       Harry was looking better now, with his major injuries healed. He was
acting more like himself, too. It was making Tom uncomfortable. It had been
easy to think of Harry as a patient, when he looked like death warmed over.
Now...he was sitting on a bed with a naked Harry, alone. His thoughts were
becoming distinctly unprofessional.

       "So, what happened to you, anyway?" Tom asked, mostly to distract
himself. "Did you volunteer as a Hirogen punching bag or something?" He
recalibrated the regenerator, getting to work the rest of Harry's injuries.

       Harry shrugged. "I guess they didn't like my sense of humor any
better than you do."

       "Forget your sense of humor. Try to develop a sense of
self-preservation." Tom shook his head. He knew how Harry could get. Most of
the time he was as placid and accommodating as you could wish for. If you
riled him enough, though, he was like a hyperactive bulldog - willful,
persistent, and stubborn as hell. Tom almost felt sorry for the Hirogen.

       He put the regenerator away and did another pass with the medical
tricorder. The readings were pretty good, except....

       "Didn't they feed you?" Tom asked.

       "Food was...a problem," Harry admitted. "The galley was closed for
the duration. We had to use the replicators. When they worked."

       "The entire crew and the Hirogen lived off the replicators for three
weeks?" Tom asked in disbelief. "We don't have the power for that."

       "Tell me about it. They shut down the warp drive, which freed up some
power, but they wanted to use it all for the hologenerators."

       "They starved you."

       "No, not really. I mean, not intentionally."

       "What do you mean, not intentionally?!"

       "They weren't cruel, just...alien. They didn't understand humans, or
human needs. They tended to forget we need to eat more often than they do.
And that we're not built as sturdily. They never did quite wrap their minds
around the concept of sleep."

       "Have you eaten tonight?" Tom asked suspiciously.

       "Tom..."

       "I didn't think so. What do you want?"

       "I don't have any rations."

       "Don't worry about it. And don't worry that I'm sacrificing my
rations for you. I'll charge it to the Sickbay account."

       "That's nice of you, Tom, but -"

       "Barbecued steak and grilled shrimp?"

       Harry made a face. Not up to that, then. "Peanut butter and jelly?"
Tom suggested. "Chicken soup?"

       "No, really...."

       Tom played his trump card. "Fudge ripple pudding?"

       Harry hesitated, then smiled slowly.

       "Okay, fudge ripple pudding it is," Tom said, and went to the
replicator before Harry could change his mind. He threw a quick glance in
Harry's direction, to be sure he wasn't being watched, then shot a packet of
data from the medical tricorder to the replicator. The dessert that appeared
looked and hopefully tasted like fudge ripple pudding, but had extra
calories, nutrients, and medication added.

       By the time Tom got back to the sleeping area, Harry had his clothes
back on. Taking the dish from Tom, he settled at the head of the bed. He
frowned at the first spoonful. "You didn't, like, put vitamins or something
in this, did you, Tom?"

       Tom gave him his best innocent look. "No, Har."

       "It tastes...different."

       "Really?" Tom said, oozing concern. "Maybe I should take you to
Sickbay. Distorted sensory perceptions can be a symptom of brain injury."

       "No, it's fine," Harry said hurriedly. "I was just imagining it, I'm
sure."

       Tom watched Harry eat with quiet fondness. Fudge ripple pudding -
like it mattered how it tasted. Near as he could figure, the appeal of the
confection lay mainly in how it looked. Harry was such a kid sometimes.

       And sometimes not. The "kid" had single-handedly saved the ship this
time. Putting up with who knows what kind of crap for three weeks. No, Harry
really wasn't a kid any more.

       Finished with his pudding, Harry tried to get up to dispose of the
empty dish. "Let me," Tom said, taking it back out to the living area to be
recycled. He was only away for a minute or two, but when he got back, Harry
was gone. "Harry, where are you?" Tom called, suddenly worried.

       "In the bathroom," Harry's muffled voice replied. He sounded slightly
exasperated. "If that's all right with you."

        "Sorry," Tom said, feeling foolish. "Don't mind me." I'm just a
little high-strung, because the damned Hirogen just about killed you, and I
love you. No, he couldn't say that, much as he wanted to. Harry didn't share
his feelings; it was obvious. He blushed whenever a pretty girl smiled at
him, but was completely unconcerned at stripping naked in front of Tom. Tom
sighed. He had long known that his private dreams about Harry were destined
to remain only dreams. And anyway, Tom was with B'Elanna now. So don't even
think about it, Paris. He busied himself getting the blankets and sheets
back on the bed.

       "Now you're making my bed?" Harry asked. Tom looked up to see his
friend standing in the bathroom doorway, a towel draped around his neck.

       "Well, I did mess it up," Tom said.

       "You going to tuck me in, too?"

       Tom gave Harry his most irresistible grin. "I guess I should, since
I'm the one who rousted you out."

       That drew a grudging smile from Harry. He leaned in the doorway
watching Tom work, then said, "Thanks, Tom. I feel a lot better now. Sorry
if I was...difficult."

       "All part of the job description, Har. Tom Paris, pilot
extraordinaire, ship's medic, designated baby-sitter of dewy-eyed young
ensigns, that's me."

       The towel came flying across the room, whapping Tom in the face.
"Good arm," he said, laughing. He disentangled himself and draped the damp
towel over his shoulder, trying not to notice that it carried Harry's warm,
clean scent.

       "Tom, really...thanks for coming by. It's good to see you again."

       The expression on Harry's face was very odd. "What's the matter,
Harry?" He had a sudden intuition. "Something happen between us that I don't
remember?"

       "No, no," Harry said. "Nothing happened." He crossed the room and
gave Tom a quick, awkward hug. "I'm just glad that you're all right."

       Something had happened. But clearly, Harry wasn't going to talk about
it now. Oh well, he'd get it out of him later. Tom gave the sheets a final
tug, then folded down one corner. "To bed with you, Har."

       "What, no mint on my pillow?"

       "Sorry, we seem to be all out."

       "So much for your tip."

       "Oh, go to bed."

       Harry crawled between the sheets, looking decidedly sleepy.

       "I want you to report to Sickbay tomorrow morning, Harry," Tom told
him. "Before your shift starts."

       "Oh, come on -"

       "So far as I can tell, you're all right, but I want the Doctor to
look at you. With the good instruments. And I'm entering this recommendation
in the medical log, so if you don't show, you'll have to explain to the
Captain why not."

       "All right, all right!" Harry said, yawning. "Don't worry, Mom, I'll
be there."

       Tom went into the bathroom to hang the towel up. If it were his own
towel, he'd just drop it on the floor, but he knew that kind of thing really
bugged Harry. By the time he came back out, Harry was sound asleep.

       Tom packed up his medical kit, then knelt by the bed, watching
Harry's sleeping face. He looked so sweet when he slept, so young and
beautiful. A sight to break your heart.

        He reached out to stroke back an errant strand of Harry's dark,
silken hair. If only...but no, Tom wasn't going to think about that. If
there was one thing he had learned over the years, it was to quit while he
was ahead. He already had more than he ever thought he would. Far more than
he deserved. B'Elanna for a lover, and Harry for a friend. To wish it was
the other way around was just stupid and greedy and pointless.

       He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss against Harry's lips, soft
with sleep and so temptingly lush. One secret kiss - he could indulge
himself that much. "Good night, Harry," he whispered. Then he turned out the
lights and left. B'Elanna was waiting for him.

                                  [Image]

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